Men with the Lip Balm Tattoos
by The Musketeers 29
Summary: After Deadpool 2, ignoring the end credits scene. Deadpool and Cable have to share a bed and end up cuddling. Soulmate AU


**This was written for a prompt on Tumblr: Deadpool and Cable have to share a bed and end up cuddling. Soulmate AU - much to their carnage**

 **It's movie-verse, ignoring the end credits scene. In this soulmate AU, you need to make skin contact with your soulmate for a few minutes (the exact duration varies) before the matching marks appear.**

* * *

"Goddammit."

Deadpool looked past Cable and started his dingy motel room checklist. Moldy carpet? Check. Single flickering light? Yep. Peeling wallpaper, no couch? Nothing surprising there. Door that either leads to the bathroom or a murderer's basement? Of course. Bed coated in suspicious stains…wait.

"Shit."

Nate sighed loudly and kicked the door shut. "You said there were two beds." He began stripping out of his outer layers, carefully laying down his guns.

"I thought there were!" Wade said defensively, dumping his weapons and mask in a pile by the door and collapsing dramatically on the bed.

Nate rolled his eyes and picked up Wade's weapons, placing them with care with his guns. "How about next time, you let me handle it?"

"What, with your _special powers_?" Despite his voice being slightly muffled by a pillow, Wade's mockery was crystal clear.

"It's called telepathy dipshit."

"Oooh, big word for a little guy!"

Deadpool let out a very manly shriek as a metal hand closed around the back of his neck and threw him across the room. Cable settled on the now vacant bed, closed his eyes, and used telekinesis to turn out the light.

Wade's face popped up beside the bed. "Heeeeeeey, big guy, how about we share the bed?"

A derisive snort was the only answer.

"C'mon…pleeeeease?" Wade gave his best puppy-dog eyes and exaggerated pout, slowly inching his way onto the bed.

Nate made the mistake of looking at him. "Ugh. Fine. Just stop looking at me like that. You look like a perverted baby." Wade flung himself onto the bed aggressively enough to make the frame creak ominously.

"Don't break the bed fuckface!" Nate whacked him upside the head.

"Sorry not sorry," Wade whispered. There was silence for a few minutes as the two men shifted around, trying to get comfortable on one of the lumpiest mattresses ever discovered.

"Hey Nate?"

"What. Now."

"Can you tell me a bedtime story?"

"Go the fuck to sleep!"

"Not that one, I've read it bef—" His whining was interrupted by Cable shoving a pillow in his mouth. Rude.

* * *

Wade woke up slowly, comfortably cocooned in a wondrous warmth. He nestled further into the warmth, which seemed to be coming from behind him…wait. Behind him?

"Why are you big spoon?!"

Nate jolted awake at Wade's half-shout, arms tightening instinctively around Wade's waist. His eyes snapped open and he stared down at their spooning bodies; a moment later, he flung himself off the bed, swearing up a storm and using a pillow to hide his – rather substantial – shame.

Unlike Nate, Wade made no effort to hide his morning wood. "I'm taller, I should be big spoon! Not that I don't appreciate your junk poking my trunk." Wade waggled his eyebrows at Nate's pillow-covered crotch, absentmindedly scratching his left butt cheek.

Nate pinched his eyes shut. "Stop. Talking." He rubbed at his right hip, shirt riding up a bit.

"Is that a tattoo?!" Wade gasped dramatically, eyes wide, mouth gaping, one hand vigorously pointing at Nate; the other was still down his pants.

Nate glanced down at his hip and dropped the pillow in shock. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"When did you get a tattoo of lip balm?" Wade looked like both his birthday and Christmas had arrived early.

"It's not a tattoo," muttered Nate.

"What?"

Nate cleared his throat. "It's not a tattoo. It's a mark."

"A mark?"

"A soul mark dumbass."

Wade gawped in disbelief at Nate, still scratching his ass. "How do you know it's not a tattoo?" he demanded.

Nate rolled his eyes so hard it must have hurt. "I wouldn't get a tattoo of lip balm, you deformed fleshlight. And itching is a symptom of new soul marks." He continued to rub at his mark.

"Well, I'm not itchy, so it can't be a soul mark," said Wade with the stubbornness of a petulant child.

Nate gave in to the urge that had been steadily building since he woke and facepalmed. "You literally haven't stopped scratching your ass since we woke up."

Wade did several things nigh simultaneously: he ripped his hand out of his pants, dropped-trou, and craned his head to take at gander at his own ass. Which led to a few minutes of Wade spinning in circles trying to see his left cheek, appearing quite a lot like a dog chasing its tail.

Nate's metal hand grabbed Wade's face, stopping his ridiculous spinning. "Go look in the mirror, fuckface."

"Oooor…you could look." Wade wiggled his eyebrows again, apparently attempting to be seductive while standing with his pants around his ankles.

"What." Nate sounded so done with all this horseshit.

"Don't you want to see your soulmate's ass? Check out this prime hunk of grade A beefsteak?" He tried to shimmy against Nate, who simply cocked an eyebrow.

"I've seen it. Wasn't that impressed," deadpanned Nate.

"How dare you sir?! I'll have you know wars have been fought over this booty! People bled and died for the honour of merely being in its presence!"

"Is that so?"

"Indeedio! I do believe I must remove myself from your ungrateful company, posthaste!" Nate let Wade go with a shove that sent him stumbling towards the bathroom.

"Just go look in the mirror fuckwit."

Grumbling, Wade complied. There was silence from the tiny bathroom for a moment before he burst back out and promptly tripped over his pants, which he still hadn't bothered to pull up.

"WE'RE SOULMATES!?" Wade screamed into the carpet.

"You really thought I'd make that up?"

"I don't know! I just wasn't expecting my soulmate to be a short, old, racist guy from the future! And now I have goddamn lip balm on my ass!" Wade banged his forehead on the floor.

"Why do I have to keep telling you: I'm not racist, you jabbering buttplug!"

Wade waved aside Nate's denial. "Details, details. The important thing is, you're shorter than me, and yet you're the big spoon! What's with that? And my mark's on my ass! Why does this author think I'm such a bottom?"

"…what author?"

"I mean, I'm not a total pillow princess! I'm a manly-man! Maybe, MAYBE, I'm a power bottom! But just because a guy likes to get pegged doesn't mean he's a bottom! Clearly, I am in control of this partnership. Obviously, this author is just an idiot. I'm totally the top—" Wade cut himself off with a shriek as his ass was smacked, right on the mark. He gazed up from the floor to see Nate kneeling beside him, hand extended. "Did you just spank me?!"

"Got you to shut up, didn't it?" Nate smirked. "Besides, you're definitely a bratty bottom." He stood and moved over to the weapons. "Hurry up. We got a lot to do today. If you behave, I'll give you a nice treat, handsome." He winked at Wade for good measure.

Wade took a deep breath before standing. This was going to be a fun day.


End file.
